When Everything Is Backwards
by TheUn-POP-ableBubble
Summary: A drabble series about a Merlinverse turned upsidedown. In a kingdom that resents those without magic, can the magic-less peasant Arthur find a home? And when he is made manservant to the bullying Prince Merlin, is it the beginning of the end for him? Or the start of a great destiny?
1. Training

**Author's Note:** YAY! My first published Merlin fic! I've been a fan of the BBC show for so long and really wanted to write it for just as long - and now I've finally got the right inspiration to actually finish something! I'm having so much fun playing with this idea and I'm so pleased with what I've already done with it! I hope some of you enjoy it too. :)

**First**: To best understand this series, you should really read "_Five Universes That Never Happened to Merlin_" written here by chibikaty. Her drabble entitled "The One Where Everything is Backwards" is what inspired this entire collection and it best lays out the base of the world explored here.

**Second:** I am primarily a Merthur girl. So it might surprise you to learn that this IS NOT a slash fic. Not specifically anyway, so fellow Merthurians feel free to read into what you find here. There will be no specific mention of a MerlinxArthur relationship, and actually mentions of Merlin with someone else, but - as always - fans will do as fans will do and I do not resent that at all.

**Third:** Some of these entries are pretty legitimate drabbles - just a couple hundred words. Other entries are up to 2,000 words. So there isn't really a great consistency, even though I've named this collection a drabble series.

**Disclaimer:** Merlin isn't owned by me. No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended. Universe idea taken with permission from chibikaty.

This one was inspired by the scene in the 1x02 where Arthur is beating Merlin four different ways around the training field.

* * *

**Training**

The prince was hell. Outright _hell_.

"On your feet, Arthur!"

When Merlin the Royal Clotpole had told him they were to train that morning, Arthur had actually been excited. Fear of Camelot's central law banning most primitive and barbaric actions had kept him from practicing his swordsmanship for days. Of course, this premature enthusiasm only endured until the 'training' actually began…

"You'll have to be quicker than _that!_"

Diving to the side, Arthur barely managed to dodge the metal projectile – goblet, platter, whatever it may have been – and took this time on the ground to thoroughly curse Prince Merlin with every nasty thought that came to mind. If he had even a smidgeon of magic, the prince would be cursed twelve times over by now.

The prince's idea of 'training' was of the magical sort, though it mostly consisted of beating Arthur left and right around the royal's private field. This was done through casting a series of levitation and momentum spells – performed by the prince – and a spry running target – performed by his manservant. In all brutal honesty, Arthur could see the value in the exercise. Even born without magic, he knew enough to realize that casting several differing spells on top of each other, from several points of reference, whilst blindfolded – blindfolded! As though Arthur weren't humiliated already – and trying to hit a moving target was probably very beneficial for fine-tuning the prince's magic. Just like the body's physical muscles, it was important for magic to exercise and sharpen its acuteness through challenging activities such as this.

But the prince was only using the time to entertain himself, Arthur was sure. Merlin hadn't even broken a sweat – though, to be fair, he had only been standing in the one spot during the whole thing – and the grin on his face was growing with the sound of every distinctive collision between the flying cutlery and Arthur's head.

"Come on, Arthur-boy! Up and running or you'll be gathering all the equipment yourself!"

Arthur snorted – as if that wasn't going to happen anyway. Still, with the warning shot of a goblet striking his left shoulder, Arthur clambered to his feet, trying to stay optimistic in thinking that at least the running gave him plenty of training as well.

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**Author's Note:**Feel like reading chibikaty's fic, now? I promise you, my stuff will make more sense. Copy, paste, remove the spaces:

www. fan fiction s/ 7555505/1/ Five_Universes_That_Never_Happened_to_Merlin


	2. Sentence

**Author's Note:** This is a longer one - just over 1000 words. You really ought to have read chibikaty's version by now.  
This was inspired by the scene in 1x01 when Merlin witnesses his first beheading.

* * *

**Sentence**

Arthur trudged through the muddy streets of Camelot's lower town. Usually, Arthur wasn't one to drag his feet but it had been a tiring day of manservant-ing.

Well, maybe that wasn't true. Any one day at his job had never been less tiring than the others. Each day brought on a new combination of chores and duties and required different levels of patience, but he was similarly spent after each sunset.

Perhaps it had only been a tiring _day_ then.

No, he thought. _Terrifying_ better suited it.

"_You were brought to me in accusation and, after thorough deduction, have been found to be tainted with the curse of Abomination." A scream of denial. A King's steady decree. "You were born evil – disfigured and disabled like the primitive abomination that you are – and the magic saw that and would not touch you. Respecting its wisdom, I, King Gaius of Camelot, will not allow you to touch a single magical thing in this life." A broken-hearted sob. An iron fist sentence. "With great pain, I decree that magic will touch you – once – in order that it take your life and remove your evil from this world."_

Arthur paused in his trek home to massage his aching eyes. The woman hadn't even had a chance to plead for her life. Her neck had snapped so quickly. And so loudly.

Though her two young – and magical – children had cried louder.

Yes, Arthur's days were usually tiring, often weary. But they didn't always remind him of the critical danger he was living in with his every breath, or remind him of the mother he himself had lost to the unforgiving tyranny of King Gaius. There were also days – rare, occasional – when banter, insults, and plenty of distracting thoughts could actually make him forget that his irritating master would kill him without remorse if he were to learn the truth. Arthur wasn't sure if this forgetfulness was foolish or not and he didn't have a single person to ask.

Body heavy with fear and exhaustion, Arthur began his gait anew, convinced he'd keel over once he clambered near enough to his bed and, for all intents and purposes, become dead to the cruel (and terrifying) world around him.

Of course, he began to reconsider as he entered his shared hut and smelt the wonderful dinner Hunith must have prepared for him.

"Ah-ha! There you are! I was beginning to worry you'd miss out on my famous stew."

Hunith, a woman who worked in the palace kitchens and who had so graciously taken him in after his first day in Camelot, was knelt near their fireplace and wiping her hands on her skirt while missing her apron entirely. On the inside, Arthur winced. When he earned half a coin to spare, a new dress for the big-hearted woman would be the first thing it'd go towards. She'd been wearing the same two pieces for the past four years; one of them was inches too short for her, the other more like a patchwork quilt than a single article of clothing. She had a penchant for wearing headscarves as well, though all of them ended up being doubly-purposed as a washing rag. Sometimes the poor woman even mixed up which piece of cloth was what and went around wearing an ageless rag on her head all day. Not that Hunith ever seemed to mind – or notice, really – that her state of dress left much to be desired. She was always content and smiling as long as she could feed those who needed it, even if she sometimes forgot to feed herself.

"It smells delicious," Arthur complimented, his mood slightly lifted by Hunith's unconditional kindness. She was the reason he still hoped for a land united in magic and non-magic folk.

Smothering her bashful smile – but not her blush – Hunith lightly swatted a rag on his arm. "I'll have no praise until you've swallowed twice, young man, and you know it."

Arthur smiled and sat down immediately, his mouth already watering in anticipation. As soon as he was able, he was scarfing down his dinner only to be proven right; it _was_ delicious. Before he even knew it, his dish was empty.

Anticipating this, Hunith ladled out another serving for him while teasingly asking, "Rough day in the workplace, was it?"

Arthur froze, his spoon half way up to his mouth again. Recalling the sight of the dead woman's body sent shivers up his spine and into his hair. Seeing Hunith sit across him and serve him food like _she_ might have to _her_ children about this time if she hadn't…

His eyes ached again, beckoning his fingers and attention. He didn't even know how she had been found out. How exactly did King Gaius go around exposing non-magical people? Were they accused of it? Turned in by family? Was there some kind of device or spell or crystal that could detect the presence or absense of magic? Or maybe every household in the kingdom was networked somehow… invisible ears and eyes in the walls and doors where they could discover hidden secrets.

"Arthur," He started violently at Hunith's interruption, which made her pause in turn. Eventually, after shooting him careful and concerned looks, she continued, "Are you alright?"

He was careful to avoid her eyes. "The King killed today. A woman."

Hunith's gaze turned to a mixture of horror and sympathy, never one to approve of violence or murder as she was a pacifist. Arthur barely noticed. All he could look at was his now-unappetizing food. "Her husband was killed in a magician's tournament three years ago and she had two children. Now they're orphans."

"Oh, Arthur…" she cooed, moving around the table to sit beside him and cocoon him in her arms. It only made the tears press harder against his eyes, the motherly embrace so like he missed and craved.

"They were crying, _screaming_ for him to spare her – to _stop_. Why," his voice cracked, "_why_ didn't he listen?"

"Shh," the pats to his hair came as soon as his tears spilt. "Shh, shh… I don't know. I don't know, Arthur. It's okay, shh. You'll see, they'll be alright. Those kids'll be alright."

"How do you know?" Arthur croaked, well and truly a blubbering mess now.

Hunith chuckled lightheartedly. "Because from now on, you'll be looking out for them, you brave and crazy boy." A kiss to the head and he was chuckling alongside her, unable to deny the truth of her words.

Their mirth wouldn't last long, wouldn't even last the night. But it was still nice to have the moment.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm unsure as to how (or if) my Hunith will have anything to do in relation to Prince Merlin. Luckily, I've got a bunch of other drabbles I can post before I tackle that problem.


	3. Bouquet

**Author's Note:** I suppose now would be a good time to mention that these drabbles are not really put in a chronological order. I'm just posting as I write, and I'm writing as I'm inspired for a scene. No timeline in sight.  
This one is one of my favourites because I discovered the knights! Well, most of them.  
This was inspired by the a scene from the series where Merlin was bringing Morgana flowers and Arthur caught him in the hall, resulting in a comedic hiding of the bouquet and mocking from Arthur who thought Merlin had a crush.

* * *

**Bouquet**

"Ah-ha," said the prince, seemingly coming to a sudden conclusion and proud of it. "You're a traditional type. Flowers, long-written letters and original poetry performed from the street to her balcony. The Lady Guinevere will appreciate that _very_ much."

Arthur looked to the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Contrary to the prince's apparent ideas, the collection of lavenders and other wildflowers were not an attempt to woo. Or at least, they weren't _his_ attempt to woo. They hadn't even been his idea – it was Lancelot who had finally summoned the courage to make a gesture to the much-admired ward of King Gaius. Lancelot, who was the son of a far-away farmer and worked in the castle as a stable hand, had spent part of the early morning picking them while Arthur tagged along.

The other part of that morning had been spent with Lancelot taking Arthur's instruction on how to properly wield a sword; a secret session of training that had been going on for weeks now.

Lancelot had first sprung up to Arthur in the lower town – having seen the sword on his hip – and had practically _begged_ the blonde to teach him all he knew about the art of swordsmanship. Apparently Lancelot had long harboured a secret fascination with the non-magical and near-forbidden weapon but had never actually touched one before or seen someone else wielding one. Arthur, nervous and frightened, had rejected the idea at first. But through Lancelot's gentle persistence and Arthur's own atrophying talents, he had caved.

Through the resulting lessons, bruises, sweat, and burning muscles the two had learned to become very good friends. And it only got better when Gwaine, a nobleman's son who lived in the castle and abided to his father's near every order, had broken character from the nobleman's code and indulged in a skirmish or two – or more – every now and again.

The first time the stiff had followed them to the woods and discovered their secret, Arthur and Lancelot had been taken by surprise and jumped, their hands reaching automatically for their weapons. Their worries quickly vanished when a meek and apologetic Gwaine revealed that he had swordsman training of his own and would be happy to keep their secret so long as he was free to join in whenever he liked. Since his birthright had allowed Gwaine to take more advanced – as well as incorporative magical – training, both Arthur and Lancelot were beyond excited to welcome him and his unique but impressive skills.

Taking lessons from Arthur and Gwaine, plus commissioning his own sword from a popular blacksmith Leon, who's good friend, Sir Elyan, generously supplied free advice on proper sword handling and care, had filled Lancelot with such a joy that he began lightly skipping everywhere he went. Gwaine seemed happier too, spending more and more time out exploring the fresh air of the lower town rather than cooping himself up with his family in the castle. Even Arthur had never felt more at home in the kingdom that despised him than he did when he was sword to sword with one of his newfound friends. It was a nice change to be respected as an equal by someone, rather than tossed around as a servant by _someone_.

Speaking of which…

"Is there a note to go with them? She'll go nuts if there is." The snide smirk on Prince Merlin's face made it obvious that this was teasing of a slightly more malicious kind. Prince Merlin often had a thing for detrimental humour – especially if he could get away with degrading multiple people at once.

"I don't believe that it's any of your business, _sire_," Arthur spat back and continued on to Gwen's chambers, steadfastly ignoring the amused chuckle that sounded behind him. It wasn't like the taunting was accurate, anyway.

The only reason he was delivering the flowers (and hidden note) instead of Lancelot was because the man didn't have clearance to enter the castle. Something to do with the paranoid or stuffed up nature of the King seemed to be the reason for the exclusivity of those allowed in and out of the castle. Arthur didn't know for sure, since it had never happened, but he presumed that the prince wouldn't be entirely happy if a puny stable hand were caught within ten feet of any of the inner castle's entrances and King Gaius certainly wouldn't be any more impressed. Better that Arthur take the risk of showering Lady Gwen with affection than Lancelot – it definitely wasn't uncommon that Arthur be seen in the castle corridors, or even that he be seen with Gwen since she had taken with a liking to him though he was sure that was born of a polite sympathy. It was obvious she knew exactly what her prince could be like.

In fact, sympathizing with Arthur for having to serve upon the prince seemed to be a common thought. More and more, Arthur discovered that Prince Merlin was much more secluded than he had originally thought. He had to wonder if that isolation was a result of Merlin's incredible magic or his bullying personality.

Probably both.

Still, Arthur's stirring thoughts were quickly forgotten, replaced by the flattered giggles that sounded from the Lady Gwen and her maidservant, his sister, Morgana when he stood before their open chamber doors.

"See," Morgana, ever the gifted seer, said to Gwen, "I told you it was a nice surprise."

The Lady tried to hide her blush and flustered squeak by burying her nose in the lavender, but nothing could hide the delighted sparkle in her chocolate eyes – least of all from the Pendragon siblings.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For those who are fans of Percival, I don't know where he fits into this verse yet.  
For those who are fans of Arwen, I am not a fan and much prefer GwenxLancelot. So because I'm biased and have complete control where my writing is concerned, Arwen is nonexistent here.


	4. Prophecy

**Author's Note: **I'm finally a University kid. :D  
Check out chibikaty for the root of this whole series!  
This was inspired from a weird place: Ice Age. When Diego tries to steal the baby away in the night but is threatened by his packmates instead: "Soto's getting tired of waiting." All I needed was a villain.

* * *

**Prophecy**

As unbearable being manservant to Prince Merlin could be at times, nothing compared to when Arthur had to manservant for other pretentious royal prats.

Arthur and Merlin had at least gotten the chance to break each other in so that what others considered abhorred or remarkably inappropriate behavior for the relationship between the two stations, was really just the norm for them – a rhythm that they had built together and coordinated with each other. And while sometimes the prince was just not in the mood to put up with Arthur's antics or Arthur was reminded of how fragile his situation was and got jumpy around Merlin, there were moments when the two could put aside their snarky interactions and either consider the possibility of being real friends or push one another far enough to nearly break their whole relationship to pieces.

Those moments were usually few and very far between, but they often occurred when the King was entertaining foreign dignitaries. Such as the present moment.

"The Kingdoms are growing tired of waiting, Princeling."

"And their patience will not be unrewarded, Valiant."

Arthur crept closer to the corridor's edge. He had been sent to fetch fresh bedclothes for the Mage Valiant, as his first ones had apparently not appealed to his colouring scheme. Mentally, Arthur both agreed and disagreed with the man – the Camelot blue did not appeal to the servant so much as a fierce red did (or a subtle yellow, in Valiant's case), but that didn't mean the magician could go around dismissing hospitality and practically spitting on the realm that was welcoming his company. It wasn't the first time Arthur had served Valiant but honestly, some of the demands the mage made were utterly ridiculous.

However, in the three visits Valiant had paid, Arthur had never heard the mage sound particularly nasty in conversation. Demanding, demeaning, and rather temperamental like a wild boar, yes; but never outright hostile. He could not dare afford it, being a guest in the castle where the strongest warlock in the land resided.

Or so Arthur had thought. This conversation that hissed in a seldom-used hall seemed to indicate otherwise.

"There are some who begin to doubt your claims," the mage accused, both acid and delight laced in his voice.

"Then they doubt the prophecies," Merlin said, sounding as though he were on edge and grinding his teeth, "making them as unwise as they are impatient."

"You think their doubt misplaced. But is it?"

"It is."

Valiant scoffed. "Those words come from the mouth of a coward."

"And they are said to the face of a snake."

A sudden thud, a collision between body and stone. And suddenly, Valiant's voice held only poison.

"You are a mockery of a magician, _failed warlock_. You think that you are above every other magic-user in the Five Kingdoms? Claiming you are the ever-revered _Emrys_!" Arthur nearly dropped the sheets in shock at the name.

All the children he had ever known were put to bed with tales of the prophecies that depicted the great magician Emrys and his deeds of uniting the kingdoms and ridding the land of suspicion and bloodshed, leaving peace and prosperity in his wake. Arthur in particular had clung tight to those stories because Emrys was something no one had ever seen before: he was a magician hero for the non-magicians.

Was it possible that _Prince Merlin_ was the man he had dreamed of rescuing him from the unforgiving might of King Gaius?

"The legends speak of your great power but you cannot control the barest of spells! You have yet to show your face in a magician's tournament and instead stay hidden in your father's walls, cowering like a common dog while you are pampered by every available hand. All because Nimueh proclaimed a 'great destiny' at your birth!" Another sound of flesh beaten against stone. "You are a sham and soon, all the realms will know it. You have started a lie you cannot uphold. And when everyone sees what I see, I will be first in the charge to strike you down."

Merlin took a moment to breathe. Loud, through his mouth; as though his nose had been broken. Arthur was terrified for a moment that Merlin had lost consciousness (his body was probably physically weak enough to collapse after taking a few solid swings) but then he spoke. "You mean to bring a whole charge against me? While your faith in Nimueh's vision has died, many others remain strong. You will be left waiting many years before that faith dies."

Valiant snickered. "Faith? It is a misplaced and desperate hope. And I may not have to wait as long as you believe. Did you know there is rumour of another?"

"What?" Merlin said and Arthur thought.

"A boy. Young, orphaned, talented and raised by the Druids in a faraway forest. He is called Mordred and stories of his rapidly-growing power are spreading. There are some who believe _he_ is Emrys and _you _are a hoax."

"They are wrong," Merlin insisted. But his statement had come a few moments too late to convey certainty. It was obvious that this news unsettled Merlin.

"We shall see, Princeling."

Neither Merlin nor Arthur moved as Valiant strode away. Arthur wasn't even sure he was breathing – too much had happened in too little time. But then Merlin moved, shoved his body away from the wall and took another moment to breathe heavily. Then some words were whispered and a crack of aligning bone was heard – a healing spell.

Why had Valiant said that Merlin couldn't control spells? Arthur had seen clear evidence of powerful, if not advanced, magical ability many times before. Had Valiant not been witness to these events? Why hadn't Merlin set him straight when faced with such a bold – and false – accusation?

"So it was you."

Arthur jumped and managed to jar his head lightly against the wall behind him. Prince Merlin stood in front of him, having just rounded the corner, his blue eyes cold and furious like ice on fire. Arthur scrambled for an explanation but Merlin only growled,

"If you ever eavesdrop on me again or speak a word of this to anyone, you will be turned into the gossiping maid you insist on impersonating."

Then, moving with a raging flourish that only he could manage, the prince began to storm past the still-startled Arthur, blood still drying on his royal face.

Later, Arthur would spit in the prince's food at the welcoming feast held that evening. After seeing Valiant sneakily charm Merlin's wine into snakes, Arthur would spit into his food too.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I liked fitting in Valiant, Mordred, and Nimueh. Actually I like refferencing any character and discovering a place for them in this world. It's fun. :) Nimueh isn't evil here, just really old and a little unaccredited cuz she's crazy. Mordred is just a boy, so I can't say whether he's a bad guy or a good guy who happenes to have incredible talent. Valiant's still bad news, still a noble, and still has an affinity for snakes.


	5. Sense

**Author's Note:** Back! Hi! Unfortunately, I don't quite like this or the next chapter. They're both the longest in the collection so far and they kinda drag for me. Also they're sappy. Sappy, sappy writing. Now that this one is sorta okay in my eyes, I'll get to working on the next (even longer than this) one.  
Still want you to first read chibi-katy's version so you get all the real basics of this universe down. Look in my Favourites or search "_Five Universes That Never Happened to Merlin"._  
Gee, I can't remember what inspired this scene. Probably in the movie _Quest for Camelot_ during 'The Prayer' when Kayley first bursts through the door on her horse... There's another fic I read where it's Merlin who tames a horse but I don't remember much... Oh, and all the times in the _Merlin_ series when Merlin appears to be able to sense powerful magic.

* * *

**Sense**

Watching amusedly as Arthur struggled to carry everything at once, Merlin couldn't help but think he had never met anyone so pathetic.

Though what made his servant so much fun to humiliate wasn't his complete incompetence in carrying out any magical duty of the sort, it was the fact that he kept coming back for more. Honestly, of everyone the prince had ever met – which drew up quite an extensive list – this little nobody-Pendragon was the most persistent and the most resilient. Rather dangerous traits for someone with such broken magical ability. Still, Merlin found them admirable.

In fact, Merlin mused, it was a shame his magic wasn't more powerful. The boy had all the makings of a brilliant mage. Perhaps even – and Merlin wasn't one to overestimate or undermine anyone – to such a level to be on par with the prince himself.

Merlin forced himself to rethink that thought when Arthur immediately proceeded to trip over something, sprawling his limbs and dumping his load all over the courtyard.

Refraining from laughing – how long had it been since he'd laughed like he used to? – Merlin briefly considered assisting Arthur with a gathering charm when shrieks suddenly sounded from somewhere behind them. Merlin whirled around at the same time Arthur got to his feet, both of them quickly understanding what must have happened.

Horses – at least half the ones housed in the royal stables – had run loose, whinnying madly and tossing their manes around, eyes wide with fright. Something must have been set off near the stables – perhaps some children playing with combustion magic – and panicked the steeds.

There were several stable hands chasing them down, trying to magically calm the beasts or at least drive them away from the courtyard and the civilians but only a handful were being successful. One horse in particular, a brave chestnut stallion, violently tore itself free from the hands and charms that tried to contain it and ran straight for Merlin and Arthur.

Instinctively, Merlin's eyes glowed with the power of time manipulation. But even with the slowed seconds, the prince barely managed to pull his servant out of harm's way before the mad beast reached them.

Switching his concentration from time magic to animal magic, Merlin sought to reach out to the horse and calm it magically. However, that tactic also proved to be worthless, as he suspected it might. The animal was in nowhere close to a proper receptive state. And even if it had been, animal magic was a tricky and volatile business – nearly all beasts could tell when they were being magicked and most rejected the foreign energy as soon as they were aware of its presence. Merlin gave a regretful sigh. He'd tried what he could but there was nothing for it.

The beast would have to be killed.

"Let me try," came a very determined voice. When the matching body ran forward towards the still-mad horse, Merlin froze with shock, his arm mid-way risen and a death spell on his lips. Arthur had to be as mad as the horse to try going anywhere near it with the state it was in.

But by the time the warlock prince had gathered his wits, Arthur was more than half way to the stallion and directly in Merlin's line of fire. Merlin didn't dare cast a lethal spell now – he didn't trust his magic to spare Arthur and something squirmed violently in his stomach when he thought of Arthur dead.

Damning the boy in his mind, Merlin settled for running after him, sporadically using his magic to clear people away from the horse or creating blockades so that it never ran too far from Arthur's reach. Merlin felt his gut clench, his mind nowhere near the state of ease that his magic was. All he could do was trust that Arthur knew what he was doing.

===Later===

"Ow! Hey, watch it! I _did_ just come off a raging horse, you know! Let go of me!"

But despite his best efforts, Arthur's cries elected no mercy from the death grip a fuming prince's hand had gifted his arm. As if his muscles weren't going to be sore enough from the hours spent steadying and calming the horse, they were being crushed and bruised as well. All from an ungrateful, royal prat.

Brashly shoved into the prince's rooms, it was all Arthur could do to stay on his feet and off of his face but he managed it. Unfortunately, just after this first close call, Merlin magically shoved his servant even harder and Arthur was left to feel his jaw, teeth, and skull ring with vibrations from the stone floor he faceplanted into.

And _still_ he didn't catch a break. "Care to explain what the hell you just did," hissed Merlin, glaring gold at Arthur from his upright position against the locking doors.

Matching anger for anger, Arthur sat up and glared back at Merlin, spitting, "I fell to the floor, genius! Something called 'gravity' works."

Merlin made vicious sparks flare up by Arthur's hands, making the servant cry out. "In the courtyard, _cripple_."

Arthur froze. Merlin had called him a cripple before – hell, nearly everyone who'd known him long enough had called him by the derogatory name at least once. But this sounded less like an insult, even less like a joke and more like an accusation. Arthur's worst fears were being realized – Merlin was suspicious.

Scared, and feeling like his own voice had been chilled, Arthur strained to say, "I don't know what you -" but he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a wind that fiercely kicked over tables and chairs and was quickly moving to lay ruin to the rest of the room.

"With the_ horse_, _Arthur_! What kind of magic did you use to tame it?!"

Hoping to be heard over the wind, he blurted, "I didn't use any magic!" and the wind abruptly vanished.

"What did you say?" the prince whispered.

"I…" Arthur knew to tread very carefully from here, "I didn't use magic on it. My magic isn't anywhere near strong enough for animal sorcery. You know that."

Merlin glared suspiciously. "Then what_ did_ you do?"

Arthur didn't dare lie; Merlin's eyes were still an angry gold. "Ealdor breeds horses. You know that. My father… Before I came here, my family owned a horse. I grew up learning how to handle her, even when she got spooked or angry – all without magic."

Merlin simmered quietly for a few long moments. Then, muttering, "That's not what I sensed," absently, he looked away from Arthur and flicked a hand to right the mess from the mini-cyclone, acting as though he were extremely bored by Arthur's life story. Arthur tried not to react to Merlin's hushed but strange and dangerous words, one hundred percent sure that he was not supposed to have heard them.

With the room back in order, Merlin looked back down at his servant, cocked an eyebrow and said, "So. You tamed a wild-minded horse with nothing but primitive tricks learned from your childhood steed?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, insulted on Cara's behalf. "She was more of a packhorse, but yes."

Merlin held his gaze for a moment and then sighed, exasperated, and moved to the window instead. He seemed to be deep in thought about something.

Tentatively rising from the floor, Arthur caressed his bruised arm and asked, "Is there anything you need, sire?"

"You can go collect everything you spilt in the courtyard earlier, clumsy oaf that you are." Though, for a quip from the prince, it was said with very little sting.

Remembering the collection of measuring devices and potion ingredients that he'd been carrying before the whole fiasco occurred Arthur nodded, bowed, and quickly shuffled out the door, his mind filled with rushed and worried thoughts.

If Merlin truly was capable of _sensing magic_, then his situation was even more dangerous than he previously thought. But then, Merlin had thought he'd _actually _sensed magic when Arthur was calming the stallion – and Arthur knew that performing any kind of magic was impossible for him. Maybe Merlin really couldn't sense spells or perhaps his senses were flawed. Either way, Arthur was going to have to be even more cautious around the prince.

Arthur had always known his days were numbered. He just never guessed the number was so low.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Do you have any idea how easy it is to type Arthur's Note after writing a Merlin fanfic? Too easy! Anyway, I suppose the point of this piece was to reveal Merlin's ability to sense magic and that Arthur may possess more 'magic' than anyone might think. I also wanted to show a budding respect growing in Merlin for Arthur's tenacity and to show an angry Merlin. :3 There's another angry Merlin chapter coming soon, but that one is way sappy too so I'll need to work it until I'm happy or I give up. Stay tuned!


	6. Hemlock

**Author's Note:** So this is the one that went on for +2000 words and I finally decided that I didn't like it because there was lots of Out Of Characterness happening and it dragged on for an unnecessarily long time. So now it doesn't. Because I cut it in half and split up the two stories that were dragging everything along. Yay for more entries! :D  
All that you see here are the sprouts grown from the seed that chibikaty sowed.  
This was inspired by Merlin's attempted murdering of Morgana and all those bandit scenes from the original series. This was also written to explore Merlin's protective nature and to further explain his ability to sense magic. On top of that, another quality of Prince Merlin's is introduced here but I won't be addressing it again for several entries yet.

* * *

**Hemlock**

It was well past midnight, but when Merlin awoke it had been the first time in hours since he'd been conscious. Dazed and confused, he struggled to sit up from his bedroll. His bedroll? When had Arthur unpacked his bedroll? He didn't remember settling down for the night. Or setting up camp, even though there was a fire and roasted meat and a neat pile of their supplies. Odd. Merlin didn't usually make a habit of staying in the woods overnight.

"_Don't be an idiot, Arthur! Just run!"_

"_You can't expect to handle them yourself!"_

Feeling his slightly throbbing head – bandaged, and somewhat caked with a poultice of some kind – Merlin resisted the urge to be sick and tried to focus on breathing evenly, trusting Arthur to appear and help explain what his memory was missing.

"_That was my wife's favourite tunic, boy. You'll be needing to pay for that."_

He'd breathed heavily for nearly fifteen minutes before his dutiful servant appeared, two dead rabbits in one hand and a bandage on his opposite shoulder.

"_ARTHUR!"_

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed, rushing to his master's side when he saw the prince was upright.

Merlin couldn't think of another time when he'd been so glad to see the crippled oaf (or when no part of him bristled at being addressed so informally by said oaf).

"How're you feeling?" Arthur asked, rabbits tossed on the ground and careful hands hovering over Merlin, as though they weren't sure what to do first.

"_Quite the magic your friend's got – too bad 'e ain't much help to you now." _

"_You're the ones in need of help!"_

"Dizzy," Merlin replied, "and very well rested."

He only said it because it was remarkably true. Good rest was something Merlin rarely got, mostly because he was so sensitive to the activity of magic that the barest of spells in any part of the castle alarmed his senses, allowing for tireless stress during the day and restless insomnia at night. It usually took exhaustion for Merlin to succumb to sleep, but even then he'd wake after a couple hours, his senses once more alert (this being the reason why Arthur never had to wake the prince from slumber in the morning – Arthur often chose to sleep in anyway). However, if the stars above were any indication, Merlin had been asleep for the better part of twelve hours – a feat never accomplished even in his deepest state of exhaustion.

"_Well, well. Handsome _and _feisty."_

"_What a shame. Temper is so unattractive in a man."_

"That's good to hear," Arthur said, sounding like he genuinely meant it, and finally moved his hands to unravel the bandages around Merlin's head. Merlin hissed a little at a rough tug and Arthur whispered a quick apology.

"How do you feel now?"

With the pressure from the wrappings lifted, Merlin was surprised to note that the dizziness and throbbing had faded somewhat. "Only lightheaded."

Arthur nodded and said, "That's probably from hunger. You've been out for hours."

Merlin took the dried meat he was offered, nodding at Arthur's answering smile, and proceeded to eat in peace, watching Arthur skin and cook his caught prey.

"_I just can't decide – there are so many ways to kill you."_

"_Hemlock'll shut 'im up righ' away, I reckon."_

When his hunger abated, and his head felt much clearer, the events of recent passing began piecing together in Merlin's memory…

Their herb picking, Merlin rarely trusted anyone else to do it properly.

The ambush that came from too many strangers and from out of nowhere. Arthur's courage and stubbornness to leave, even though they didn't know who Merlin was.

Taking a blow to his head. That's when the world stopped making sense.

Arthur's screams when he was impaled to a tree with his own weapon. Merlin's screams when Arthur screamed. Arthur struggling against magic that he couldn't hope to match.

A surging power inside of Merlin's belly with a crying instinct of _protectprotectprotect! _Seeing gold andthe horror-struck faces of their attackers when they realized their own magic was poisoned and out of their control, hearing their breathing die out in gasps-

"_Merlin! Merlin, stop! Please, stop!"_

Merlin shook his head, feeling dizzy and nauseous once more. He hadn't even known he could _do _that – hadn't known _anyone _could do that. All he had known was that Arthur's blood was spilt on the earth and that there was talk of force-feeding the fool hemlock and that Merlin would never, _ever_ let that happen-

"_I refuse to let them hurt you.__"_

"_Merlin?"_

"You still hungry?" Merlin looked up at the question, seeing Arthur offering freshly cooked rabbit. But Merlin couldn't even think about food anymore. Not just after-

"_You're scaring me – snap out of it!"_

Merlin shut his eyes tight and focused on his breathing, trying to pattern it according to the focusing exercises his father had taught him years ago.

"Merlin?"

His servant sounded concerned and Merlin would have been annoyed if he hadn't been so frightfully _scared_. He could feel his whole body shaking and sweating from his fear. Just what had he done to those people? What caused backs to arch and legs to collapse and throats to seize?

"Merlin."

Through his shaking, the prince felt two firm hands place themselves on his shoulders. Could such strong and steady hands really belong to his sometimes-clumsy manservant? Merlin didn't know for sure.

"It's okay, you're fine. No one's hurting you."

Reaching out and grasping Arthur's forearms, Merlin managed to rasp, "And you?"

His shoulders received a steady squeeze. "I'm fine too, sire. Thanks to you."

Maybe it shouldn't have made him breathe any easier, knowing that whatever he had done had spared Arthur and his measly magic but killed seven magical men and women. Perhaps he shouldn't have felt relieved that Arthur wasn't hurting. It probably wasn't good that Merlin was content to pay seven lives – much more worthy _magical_ lives – to obtain that outcome.

But he definitely knew he should be afraid that anything related to Arthur was worth lives at all, and in _that_ at least he was reacting properly.

Pushing aside his arising conflicts and trying to settle his mind, Merlin opened his eyes and decided to focus his attention elsewhere.

"Have you used magic at all since the attack?"

Arthur seemed startled by the change of subject but dutifully answered, "No, sire."

Well that explained why he hadn't been woken prematurely by his senses. They hadn't alerted him because there was nothing to alert him about. Merlin might have to consider making forest camping trips with Arthur a regular thing if the sleep continued to be that good. Even just escaping for once a month was bound to improve his sleep.

It was funny how Merlin had never considered that Arthur's embarrassingly low talents for any skill in sorcery could have benefits and what those might be. So far they were amusing and interesting, but more than that they were even… welcome.

These thoughts were quickly filed away, too.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hope you enjoyed! I should be able to spit these out fairly regularly, now that I've fixed the knot that was this piece's first draft. I haven't added much to the collection for a while though, so once I brush them all up and post 'em here that may be the end of it. :/


	7. Sisterly

**Author's Note:** I can't believe it's been a month since I posted in this story. Guess all the stories are true when authors here say that university/college work piles up and eats up time... This is the first, and so far only, installment of the series that does not have Arthur and/or Merlin physically present. In the end, this is not at all my favorite chapter of the series but I did like branching out to the other characters so I may do this again.

chibikaty. If you haven't already noticed, I will be mentioning her every chapter because this story would be nothing without her.

This chapter was actually inspired by my last (and actually my first) reviewer for this story, though the inspiration was intentional. Of course, any writer will know, that's really the only kind of inspiration that has a shot of amounting to anything. They mentioned that Morgana knows of Arthur's secret. To me, this had been obvious but I hadn't before considered how that played a part in Morgana's characterization or the relationship between the Pendragons. So this was borne of that.

* * *

**Lies**

For all that it was practiced and studied, magic still retained several hundred secrets that no one – warlock, wizard, sorceress or otherwise – had ever been able to solve.

Nobody quite knew what magic's limits were or how it could be measured. No one had discovered magic's commanding source or all the different ways it could be used. None could satisfactorily explain how magic was channeled and commanded or why magic allowed Barebloods –creatures without magical ability – to breathe and live in the first place. But perhaps the greatest mystery about magic was that it wasn't singular.

Each wielder of magic seemed to possess a unique talent or particular affinity towards certain spells or branches of sorcery, effectively giving their gifts a _personality_. Uther Pendragon's talent, for example, lay in magnification. Though limited, his magic was most comfortable in manipulating the size, number, and volume of things (including his voice for when his mischievous children had still needed to be reprimanded but also his arms when their mother died and they just needed to be held close). Other sorcerers were gifted with green thumbs or shadow shifting or dances with the wind. Only one could manipulate time to suit his needs. And still others had fairly shy magic, only capable of a single talent in warming bread and toes in winter or enchanting hair to braid itself.

As such, it was encouraged throughout the kingdom to train and hone one's unique ability to its fullest potential, both in the name of honouring the magic and scientifically exploring its properties.

Unless it happened to be battle magic and you were a woman.

It was too dangerous politically if a woman could challenge the men around her, worse if she could defeat them. Not that that had stopped some from learning anyway, such as the Lady Guinevere who refused to be a defenseless damsel. Morgana Pendragon was similarly trained, having been taught by her father and uncle – Gorlois, who was fierce in hand-to-hand combat and whose magic liked to sink men's feet into the ground – so as protect her younger brother if he ever wound up in more trouble than he could handle.

But even with that childhood training, no offensive spell or killer left hook would help Morgana protect Arthur now.

The Lady Guinevere was glaring while Morgana distractedly tried to attend the laundry. Gwen's magic was dangerous because it had a natural ability to detect when a person was playing false; there wasn't a creature alive who could lie to her face without her knowing about it. Luckily, Morgana had been observant enough to know of two loopholes: for one, if a statement contained truth _and_ untruth, the king's ward couldn't tell which parts of the statement were false and which were real. And, more appealingly…

"Is there anything I should know about Arthur?" Gwen asked, boring holes into Morgana's skull as she went about her folding.

…a person could be completely honest in their words without disclosing the complete truth.

"He's not crazy, if that's what you're worried about." Morgana kept her tone lofty and soft like the cloth in her hands – a joke between good friends. "Perfectly sane," _just not perfectly gifted_, "though I understand your concern."

"I assumed that," her Lady snapped, uncharacteristically short. Gwen wasn't going to let her shrug this one off. "But he lies all the time – especially to Merlin and I don't like it."

It was a peculiar sensation, Morgana thought, to feel your guts tighten and your breath stop but your heart speed up and your brain begin to work four times as fast. She tried not to let any of it play out on her face.

"All servants lie to their masters," she drawled, trying to sound disinterested. "He's probably been skiving off chores."

"He doesn't only lie about those!"

Morgana finally whirled around to face her mistress head on. Brown and green – both mixed with gold – collided angrily, one upset with the lack of cooperation from the other who grew more and more annoyed (_scared_) that the first was persisting the interrogation. It actually surprised Morgana that Guinevere was pushing so hard. She wasn't normally one to push and prod and press – she was much more prone to caving into compassion and tended to shy away from triggering topics because ever since her father was killed in a petty battle with another lord she had never liked conflict. Morgana, who had to fight her prophetic visions every night, was always the one who fought. Not Gwen, never Gwen even though she could.

And suddenly Morgana knew what this was.

It wasn't that Guinevere attacking Arthur.

It was that she was protecting Merlin.

Facing each other in the room right now were just two sisters trying to protect their brothers. Morgana couldn't fault Gwen for being so aggressive if that was her reason, but that didn't also mean she was going to roll over though. Arthur's life was very much at risk and Morgana was a risky gambler at the best of times.

"Look," Morgana carefully gave, piercing eyes keeping close watch on Gwen the whole time, "Arthur has his secrets."

She knew she was taking enough of a risk to sign her brother's death warrant in letting the King's ward know even that much. But Morgana's magic often showed her events related to Arthur and it hadn't recently warned her of any danger. Besides which, Gwen had always seemed to like Arthur before…

But that small give wasn't enough to appease Gwen, who spat, "Big and bad enough that he's always on edge around Merlin?"

"The way _you_ are when someone talks about _Lancelot_? When you fear they might know how you_ feel_? Know that you _daydream_ about consorting with a _peasant_?"

Gwen flinched under Morgana's venom and her eyes darted to the closed chamber door, as if worried someone might have overheard. Then she sent a glare at her maid only to have a sharper one thrown back. Morgana Pendragon knew how to cut when it counted.

Breathing deep and dropping the bite behind the glare, Guinevere settled for a final strained question, "Are these 'secrets' dangerous to Merlin in any way?"

If she spoke it she'd be lying, so Morgana shook her head instead.

"He's safe."

Gwen reluctantly let her get back to her folding and Morgana made a mental note to warn Arthur to be a little more cautious whenever he spoke around Gwen in the future.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I personally like that Morgana can be tough-as-nails and gets her hands dirty when she needs to. She's always been a powerful character in the show and I wanted to keep that power here. Next update actually will be speedy - it'll be the second part of the previous chapter.


	8. Exclaibur

**Author's Note:** This is a cute one. I'm quite fond of this chapter and I hope it satisfies what has been up-til now a gross lacking of bromance and casual friendship between the prince and his manservant. One of my absolute favourite chapters of this series is coming next though, so keep a lookout!

Long live chibikaty! For she has given me a great gift!

This chapter was made to fit in Exclaibur to my version of the Merlin Universe. There wasn't much inspiration for it besides the thought of what Arthur's relationship was like with Kilgharrah (since it seemed, in chibikaty's verse, Merlin was no longer the one in kahoots with The Great Dragon. and since they wouldn't be near-extinct in this parallel universe, I decided to address the dragons situation).

* * *

**Exclaibur**

Since the ambush three weeks ago, life for Camelot's prince had been explicitly_ dull_.

Arthur's shoulder had taken a long time to heal – resulting in Merlin having to 'take it easy' on him, according to Gwen – and the temporary assistant-servant Merlin had recruited was much too soft-spoken and reverent of the crown to be considered entertaining. Originally, Merlin had gotten him because he thought it might be fun to poke Arthur around by over complimenting anything the other boy did. He at least hoped that the temporary servant would annoy Arthur by completing his list of chores to an excessive degree (because who except the noble women received _rose petals _in their bath water, _honestly_) and cleaning up after Arthur's half-done ones (though that hardly called for a complete reorganization of his wardrobe). After all, this particular servant was known throughout the castle as the most efficient and hardworking of them all. No one had ever seen him eat or sleep – only work with diligence.

Unfortunately, Cedric only made Merlin want to pull hairs out from his own skull. It'd probably be more interesting.

But now that Arthur was healed enough to not require help with his chores, Cedric was gone and their days as prince and manservant could begin to go back to normal.

Except that Merlin had been _bored_ for far too long. A normal day just wouldn't cut it. And so, aware that Arthur wouldn't be able to handle too much boisterous teasing, Merlin decided to address a certain curiosity that had niggled him for _months_.

"Give me your sword," he commanded, extending his open hand in an equally demanding way, trying to fall back into his familiar princely role.

Busy at the table with plucking medicinal leaves from useless stems, Arthur only glanced up to make sure he had heard Merlin correctly before handing over his weapon without a fuss. Merlin couldn't help but be pleased with this; Arthur used to bristle up whenever his attachment to his sword was threatened. The boy had become considerably more comfortable around Merlin in the past month or so and it probably helped that they were in the familiar and casual setting of the prince's private chambers. (Now Arthur only bristled when Merlin began getting excessively bossy but the prince was determined to accustom him to that as well.)

With the first touch of fingers to weapon Merlin had to struggle to contain his amazement – a sword was something he'd never held before, believing them to be as tarnished as the Barebloods who would have once wielded them. There was nothing tarnished about this one, religious polishing and cleaning ensured that blood or dirt never remained long enough to rust. Holding it felt unlike anything Merlin had anticipated; not uneven or unsettling as he thought it might be after knowing that the blade had once been coated with Arthur's own blood, along with who-knows-how-many others. It was heavy; weighted like so many other non-magical things, but there was a sort of spirit contained within the metal that made the burden precious rather than tiresome (questioned later, Arthur would call the spirit 'honor'). It was also balanced; painstakingly so, if the subtle marks of craftsmanship were any indication. It was unexpectedly not unanimous in its temperature; cool where the blade lay exposed to the world, but warm on the hilt and pommel where Arthur liked to keep a resting hand.

Private in his thoughts, Merlin rather thought the weapon beautiful – wondrous, even. It made him curious what else the World of Old had to offer, what other treasures lay beneath the ugly and soiled surface that his father had painted for him.

Running his nimble fingers down the smooth blade, Merlin jumped when his nerve endings picked up a spark of magic. Scrutinizing the blade, Merlin pressed his fingers to the metal, pushing his senses inward to seek the magic that had been there. Finding it once again, and barely flinching this time from the resulting shocks, he turned to Arthur who had taken to bottling the leaves into jars.

"What sort of magic resides in this?" It was an innocent question but Arthur's face drained of a little colour and he kept his eyes glued to his task. Merlin might say he was frightened or ashamed.

He hesitated another moment and then confessed, "My father cast a spell to keep it sharp. I would've done it myself, had I been able to."

Ah, Merlin thought. The shame stemmed from his much-to-be-desired magical abilities. Still, Merlin remained unconvinced that that was all the blade had been gifted with. A sharpening spell couldn't give off so many sparks by itself, not enough to make Merlin startle.

Arthur squirmed under his questioning look but caved all the same. "It's also been… Back in my village, Ealdor – well, near it anyway – I… I once met a dragon."

Royal eyebrows shot up in surprise. Dragons, while far from endangered, were rare to see because they preferred to keep away from human company. So far away in fact, that it was rumoured they had become invisible to human eyes and could not be seen at all – unless, as the legends told, they heard the call of a blooming destiny. The last time a dragon had been sighted in Camelot was on the day of Merlin's birth, further convincing many around the kingdom that he was the Emrys of legend. So how had _Arthur_ stumbled into meeting one?

"It didn't say much. Well, not much that made sense," Arthur continued, uneasy with Merlin's looks of disbelief. "A lot of riddles and fancy words really. But before he left he did ask to see my sword. And then it was floating towards him and he was breathing fire and -"

"Your sword was given a _Dragon's Blessing_?" Merlin interrupted, gaze now incredulous.

"I suppose? The dragon did blow fire on it, if that's what you mean."

Merlin stared, still gaping in utter disbelief. Then he burst out laughing and excitedly hopped around his room a little before he fell on his mattress and returned to examining the sword, eyes bright and excited when the sparks played along his fingertips.

Dragon's Blessings acted like favours given in tournaments from ladies of the court. It was a great and rare gift, often imparting incredible strength and luck to those it was given to. If Arthur's sword truly had been touched by a dragon's breath, it was probably capable of increasing his strength, speed, and endurance in any battle – transforming a primitive stick of metal into a magical assistant against any foe. It was probably why Arthur always fared as long as he did against magic users when his own magic was so stunted. His sword also likely grew stronger and more attuned to Arthur with every battle situation; it was probably capable of _learning_ by absorbing information and patterns and magic.

_Absorbing magic_.

"May I implant my own spells on it?" Merlin asked, sure in his deduction and still kicking a bounce in his feet; he couldn't remember feeling this excited since his early youth – and that had been the time he'd found a gryphon's egg!

Arthur eyed him suspiciously. "You aren't going to enchant it to hit me upside the head all the time or hide itself away from me or anything rude like that?"

Merlin shook his head and grinned, momentarily forgetting the prattish and bullying persona he had built for himself over the lonely years of his life. All he could feel was a childish _rush_ of excitement and a need to explore and experiment – something he'd felt many years ago when he first made the cutlery dance or when he learned he could shape puddles into anything he wanted.

Arthur was still suspicious, more so about the prince's brighter-than-Arthur'd-ever-seen-him expression rather than his possible ill-intent. But he eventually nodded and offered a, "Go ahead."

And that was how several things came to be:

Arthur's sword became a useless, immoveable weight to anyone else who tried to use it, by magical means or otherwise. Merlin had not forgotten exactly how Arthur's shoulder was injured.

It also became a great shield, implanted with more than a few of Merlin's protective and healing enchantments because a dragon's protection obviously wasn't enough for Arthur's reckless hide.

And Arthur's barbaric weapon became known as Excalibur.

"Noble things always have names, Arthur. And your peasantry stick is much nobler now that my magic is implanted in it!"

"I'm not calling my sword a name just to boost your ego."

"If you don't, I will have to name it for you."

"…You'd name it 'Merlin', wouldn't you?"

"I would not! I would call it… 'Myrddin'."

"You're not naming my sword!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I had fun with this chapter, playing with the boys' everyday relationship rather than dramatics and them being super protective. Also, I had great fun revamping Cedric's character. It's also in my head that the reason no one sees him sleep is because George is his twin brother and they're both dedicated and deligent servants that switch out on different shifts. Haha!


	9. Glow

**Author's Note:** Wow! Here we are at my favourite installment so far! It's almost too bad that this is the second-shortest one in the collection so far, but it's perfect for me the way it is. 3 I love when I love my writing! I don't know yet which part I'll upload next... I have another romantic one I could put up or a really dramatic one. Hmm...

Credit for all goes in part to chibikaty!

You'll know where this was inspired from as soon as you read it. So long as you're up to date and at least completed season 2.

* * *

**Glow**

"Fetch me another."

After being hit in the face with a tossed shirt for the fifth time that morning, Arthur figured he was entitled to know what exactly the big deal was.

"Not this one either."

Sixth time.

"Is today a special occasion, sire?" The words were forced through grit teeth, properly annoyed with the prince's peculiar behaviour.

But instead of rolling his eyes like he usually did when the prince thought Arthur ought to know what he obviously _didn't_, Merlin deliberately avoided looking towards his servant. Inadvertently, this dispelled Arthur's annoyance and replaced it with intrigue.

"Not particularly," he said, short.

"Is that so?" Arthur jibed, not falling for any of it.

"Absolutely," his master snapped, irritated with how perceptive and talkative Arthur regularly insisted on being.

"So all this fuss has nothing to do with the _visitor_ we are to be expecting?"

Whipping around, Merlin could see the mischievous gleam in the eyes of his manservant and he resented it. Arthur had to be taking a shot in the dark because he was _not_ that obvious.

Was he?

"Nothing whatsoever."

Arthur hummed in mock understanding and went about the room, tidying up the tossed and rejected clothes. Swiping a bit of cheese off the prince's breakfast platter, Arthur turned to throw together a pile for washing when he caught sight of Merlin. Fixing his hair in the mirror.

Utterly flabbergasted, Arthur grabbed the whole pile and swiftly escaped the room, frightened that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from poking fun at the prince and, as the royal's retribution, never discovering the reason behind all his preening.

* * *

By now, Arthur had greeted enough of Camelot's guests to know that very few of them arrived on horseback. Spells or enchanted objects or even magical beasts were more popular methods of transport for most nobles; peasants, if they ever visited, usually came by foot. So when the trumpets began to sound, signaling the arrival of the anticipated dignitary, Arthur was no longer confused at the sight of the empty roads before the castle or the absence of _clip-clopping_ sounds on the cobblestones.

He wasn't completely prepared for a half dozen flying beasts to suddenly land in the courtyard either, but at least he hadn't fallen to his backside like the first time it had happened.

"King Halig!" King Gaius greeted the man currently dismounting a winged grey and black cat, "It has been too long!"

Halig laughed a hearty laugh. "Far too long, old friend."

And then he embraced Gaius with a genuine and ageless friendship, one which the king of Camelot returned. Arthur tried not to stare. It was odd to see the bitter and callous – even merciless and _frightening_ – king in such high and light spirits. He seemed rather human then.

Distracted with the kings' happy greetings and jibes about how old the other was getting, Arthur hadn't noticed that Prince Merlin had slipped away from his side. The prince was off a bit, positioned beside another winged cat and gently assisting someone off the creature's black back. It didn't take Arthur two seconds to see Merlin's soft handling of the person's waist, or deduce why he must have been acting so flustered this morning.

It was a woman. And one he knew well, if their smiles and too-quiet conversation were anything to go by.

"Ah! And your daughter," Gaius said, his voice prompting both kings back into Arthur's (and Merlin's) span of attention.

"Yes, it must have been ages since you've seen her last – four years at least," Halig said, eyeing Merlin carefully as Camelot's prince escorted the lady forward. "May I present: Princess Freya."

"Your Majesty," she bowed, smile wide and dark eyes sparkling in proper reverence of a king.

But Arthur saw the way Merlin had yet to remove a hand from her waist and wondered if that contributed anything at all to the glow he could see on both their faces.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Cute, right? ^w^ I love fluff and I don't write enough of it. I was really happy to include a bit of MerlinxArthur fun too - the Merthur fangirl inside of me was well pleased. When it comes to choosing my favourite pairing for Merlin between Arthur and Freya... It's kind of a toss up depending on my mood of the day but I probably spend more time shipping Merthur. I wish Freya were a bigger part of the canon series.


	10. Ealdor

**Author's Note:** I wanted to write this kind of thing for a long time because I got to thinking about what Arthur's life was like without growing up as a prince. Obviously he grew up in Ealdor but then in 'Sense' I needed Arthur to be a magicless hero and had him tame a frightened horse. So I had to explain why he could do that and an idea popped into my head: I could change things about Ealdor just like I had been changing aspects of the show's characters! 'Course, once I started writing about Ealdor a bunch of other stories came to mind. So I may write about Merlin and Arthur in Ealdor again. I hope you like this chapter! It's not my best one but I like introducing Uther (even if I'm not 100% sure he's alive in chibikaty's version...O.o)

Tribute, as always, goes in part to chibikaty! :)

Not hard to guess where this scene was inspired from: two of my favourite episodes from Season 1! And they're somewhat meshed together.

* * *

**Ealdor**

As soon as a particular stream came into view through the trees, Arthur broke his horse into a spirited gallop with a grin on his face and a whoop to the wind. Merlin was both amused and exasperated by his servant's childish display but urged his steed to up its pace anyway lest he (_become lost_) fall behind.

Merlin needn't have worried though; Arthur's hometown of Ealdor could be seen from the forest's edge and lay snuggly tucked at the bottom of a small hillside. It would have been impossible to miss, standing stark in the middle of a small plain like it was.

Merlin took a moment to admire the view of his manservant's home. For a village that supported such a small population, it took up a lot of space. Though, Merlin supposed, the space was probably necessary since Ealdor profited mostly from their breeding of horses and – occasionally – unicorns. Large pastures were needed for grazing and training, as well as for growing crops. But even with all the buzz and business of the town, Merlin thought Ealdor seemed a place of peace and awe.

He always had the same feeling when he surveyed Camelot from his favourite tower in the castle. Well, from any tower in the castle, really. He could understand why Arthur was so excited to set out on this visit when he first received his father's letter and, for the first time, he was rather glad to have accompanied his servant on his journey home. To grow up in a place like this… with the wind and the horses and the hillsides… where the only pressure on your shoulders is to pull through for your neighbours, the only responsibility on your head is to fuss over animals, and the only fear that kept you awake at night is the worry for your crops.

Why did Arthur ever leave this place?

"_Merlin!"_

The call that broke his peace was easily recognizable. Arthur was a distance away, jumping and waving his arms excitedly to grab his prince's attention. Merlin shot an incredulous look, bemused as to why anyone would ever let themselves look so ridiculous. Then again, it did work – Arthur had his attention, as well as plenty of other peoples'.

Arthur, of course, didn't seem to realize just how ridiculous he looked, and called him again. "_Get over here! You'll want to see this!_"

Intrigued and a little miffed that Arthur would presume a prince would want to see anything of a small town (_though he loved the busy peace of Ealdor already_) Merlin nevertheless had his horse clop its way over to his servant. Arthur shot him a bright grin as he approached and was patient enough to tether his master's horse and wait for Merlin to set his feet on the ground before urging once more, "Come on!" and ducking into a rickety stable.

Unsure – and very, _very_ aware of the stares, whispers and pointed fingers he was attracting – Merlin followed after his wayward manservant, self-consciously picking up the hem of his robe and avoiding any mud puddles.

"Alright. I'm here," Merlin grumbled, somewhat gruff and unhappy now that he had been stared at like a gimped flightless griffin. "Now what did you…"

His question died away as he took in the sight before him. Arthur and two other men surrounded a unicorn resting on its side but none of them had turned to look at Merlin. One man with dark skin and dark hair kneeled by the unicorn's head, the other man was grey-haired and strong chested and sat at its flank. Beside him sat Arthur who held in his arms…

"A unicorn's foal," said the man beside Arthur, a striking likeness between them that had Merlin betting he was meeting Arthur's father.

"I've never even seen one before," Arthur breathed, completely in awe of what lay in his lap.

"This is only the second I've seen in my lifetime," replied his assumed-father. "First I could ever touch though," he added, reaching out to rub a reverent hand along its filthy body.

It was common knowledge that unicorn births were incredibly rare since a unicorn could not conceive offspring unless it had first been killed and brought back. When Merlin first heard that, he had become very upset because he thought it unfair that such beautiful creatures had to be born from such awful violence. His tutor at the time, Cornelius Sigyn, had pat him gently on the head and corrected his conclusion by saying unicorns were born of, not the cruelty of mankind, but the purity.

Merlin wondered where such a man existed in life, to have been so pure of heart to bring such goodness to this world. Those kinds of men were growing increasingly rare as fewer unicorns were seen and more villages fell victim to a cursed starvation.

"I'm surprised ol' Iridess held out for so long," said the other man, affectionately stroking the neck of the exhausted mother who whinnied appreciatively at his caress. "That was one tough birthing, girl."

"He was a stubborn one, that's for sure. Anhora must have blessed her," the strong chested man replied, finally breaking gaze with the golden colt and seeing Merlin. His aged face morphed into nervous shape, though he supressed it quickly and hid it well. "Forgive me for the less than proper welcoming, your Highness. Arthur did not send word you were coming and Iridescent here had been showing signs of approaching labour for days."

As though that were an excuse for not having a welcoming party or feast to greet him upon his arrival, a prince would – and should – have thought.

Merlin hardly cared.

"You may be pardoned for the price of your names," he carelessly negotiated, still rather enraptured with the young and gooey creature sprawled in Arthur's lap and completely missing the flinch Arthur's maybe-father gave when Merlin first began to speak.

"Uther," the grey-haired man offered, then gestured to the other man, "and Gorlois, life-long neighbour and friend to myself and my son, your servant." Both men bowed their heads low in respect.

Merlin nodded and hummed in acceptance and then knelt to the ground in front of said servant, forgetting to pay any mind to the dirt and straw that were now soiling his robes. The foal was blinking and turning its head, not as though it were scared but simply as though it were curious as to what surrounded it and what it all meant.

"He needs a name," Arthur said, sending a friendly glance towards his master. "His horn won't come in without one."

True to his word, there was no sign of any protrusion from its head. The foal looked as if it could have been mothered from a regular horse – excepting its golden coat.

Merlin, still too in awe to comprehensively recognize just what a gift Arthur was giving him or the looks of bewilderment that Uther and Gorlois were sharing, merely reached out to stroke below the young one's ear and cooed, "Aithusa."

Arthur laughed and Uther noted that it was without any trace of fear. "That's dragon-tongue, Merlin. You do know you're naming a unicorn, yes?"

Golden eyes blew a few bits of straw at Arthur's face. Uther didn't think Arthur was the least bit alarmed. "So sorry Arthur, are you the only one allowed to be an idiot when it comes to naming things?"

"So you admit to being an idiot?"

"Shut up, peasant."

Uther wondered if there was any point in worrying about his son's position in Camelot any longer as he watched the prince compliantly – maybe even happily – follow Arthur's instructions on how to clean the newborn foal and not even flinch at the mess he was making on himself.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just for the record, Ealdor lies well within Camelot's boarders and provides a lot of the kingdom's horse-power (though, thanks to magic, horses aren't needed super often and that's why the village is still kinda small, even though I gave it more influence in the kingdom).


	11. Sugar

**Author's Note:** I'm always so excited when I rediscover and polish this project. Just last night I decided to work out a rough timeline for this thing so I could keep organized what I want my characters to be like in each chapter. So far, I've got 20 stories in this collection, including the 11 that are posted here so there is more to come! So far the story has been about Merlin and Arthur's budding relationship and the re-introduction of a bunch of characters from the show. Later on there will be a small arc about the secret Merlin is keeping from Arthur (which has already been briefly mentioned here and there) and its reveal. After that, I suppose it will be Arthur's turn to reveal his secret but I'm not sure how that's gonna come about just yet. I'm gonna post this timeline on my profile so that curious minds can check it out.

Eternal thanks goes to chibikaty for first creating this universe!

It'll be easy to see where inspiration for this scene came from. I really wanted Arthur to have a romance like Merlin has with Freya but then I couldn't decide who I liked him with most. So I stuck all three of his potentials in the same chapter! And personally, I like Arthur with any of them, even in the canon 'Merlin'.

* * *

**Sugar**

Giggling appeared to be Princess Vivian's favourite activity. Or so thought Arthur.

She had been a guest in the castle for all of three days and he'd yet to glance in her direction and _not_ witness her laughing all charming and girl-like. Even when she was alone she managed to find reason to let out smile and privately chuckle into her hand. It had come off as strange to Arthur at first, even a little off-putting. But then he'd served her wine at the welcoming banquet and she had been incredibly well-mannered and polite. Sophisticated, too; although she still laughed at all of the terrible jokes and little stories she requested from him throughout the night. And when Camelot's jester Trickler later asked her to dance, she was most kind with him as well. She acted the same with Lord Elyan which put Lady Gwen in such a friendly mood that the two women left the festivities with their elbows joined together. Arthur thought people's good nature around her might be helped by the fact that her golden hair smelt delectable whether one stood up close or at a respectable distance. It reminded him of the treats his late-mother would bake for him on his birthday; a lovely scent like warm, soft cinnamon.

Now, a week into her stay, Arthur began to seek out exactly where she was whenever he'd catch wind of her laugh. All that flirty giggling seemed to suit her more, now that he knew what a kind and joyous person she was to servant and noble and peasant alike. Sometimes he'd watch her for too long and she'd catch him staring and then their eyes would meet and she would beam a smile and his face would flush and he'd have to make a quick escape while trying not to trip over his feet or drop his things along the way.

It was in the midst of one of these clumsy escapes that Arthur met – or rather, ran into – Elena, a low-level lady-in-waiting to the Princess.

"Careful!" Elena sharply reprimanded, struggling to keep all the books in her arms balanced while Arthur lay sprawled on the floor. "These are some very heavy tomes I'm carrying here! And some are quite personally beloved by the Princess, I'll have you know!"

"I'm sorry," Arthur apologized, scrambling up to try and help her. Another of Vivian's entourage witnessed the collision and offered assistance as well.

"No, no! Don't you bother, Mithian," she snappishly called, dodging away from all four hands. She hadn't yet taken an eye off of the swaying stack of books in her arms so Arthur didn't really think she was all that angry with them. Still, he and the girl Mithian backed off. "Thank you both but I've got it handled quite nicely. My magic's gotten used to balancing all kinds of things over the years. It just _loves_ to compensate for my careless rushing around." And now that he looked, Arthur could sort of see that a wind of some sorts was pushing the pile upright when it began leaning a bit too far to any side.

"Oh," he said, his face flooding with embarrassment now that there was only his fall and no problem to focus on, "that seems useful."

Elena and Mithian shot him odd looks. Elena sharply – it must just be the way her voice was, for she still didn't seem angry with him – interrogated, "What? Don't _you_ use your magic for that? How long have you been a servant?"

Arthur tried very hard not to panic and dodged the first question by answering the second, "I've been Prince Merlin's manservant for over a year now." He wished he didn't sound so proud about it.

Elena thought differently, apparently. Mithian shared a glance with her and both women fell into twittering giggles. Arthur couldn't understand why the women from Olaf's kingdom all seemed to have such short fuses for humour.

"Ohh," Mithian cooed, smiling gently, "so you're _Arthur_ then."

Elena also wore a smile making her face much prettier and allowed her voice to be much more endearing than berating. "It's funny," she commented, "I didn't believe it at first but _do_ come across as a bit dull-headed." And the girls laughed _again_.

Arthur was lost. "I do?"

"Sure!" Elena's exclamation was still a bit forward, a kind of force or power resonant in her voice, but she had lost much of her previous bite.

"Not in such a bad way," Mithian was quick to console, "bit adorable, actually. It's just the uh… 'thing' with your magical ability is all."

Arthur wasn't positive her words were reassuring but Mithian continued on anyway, nodding to herself thoughtfully and oblivious to Arthur's befuddled expression, "You know, you were the_ first _thing the Prince talked to Princess Vivian about when she arrived. She thought it rather heart-warming that he looked out for you that much – even passed the word on to our entire traveling party, she did. Just so we could be sure not to mistreat you." Mithian smiled, seeming to be pleased as if she were the lucky bearer of good news.

Elena spoke next, almost more to Mithian than she did to Arthur. "Oh! And, you know, just the other day the young Lord Gwaine overhead a few of our maids discussing it and shared that the Prince's concern was similar with _every_ guest to visit the castle."

Mithian sighed a sort of '_aww_' sound. Arthur took it to mean she was smitten. Though whether with Gwaine or Merlin, it was hard to tell. "I think it's very _sweet_ of the Prince. You're quite lucky to have a master like him!"

Arthur mentally snorted. If there was anything lucky about dusting and polishing magical ornaments, embroidering cloaks, serving food, grooming all sorts of magical pets, AND constantly having to watch out for a spoiled man who still occasionally acted as a prat then he'd rather have bad luck.

"I suppose," Elena continued, oblivious (as Mithian was) to Arthur's distaste at the news, "he _tries_ to present it in a way that might embarrass or humiliate you – makes you out to be some sort of '_stunted_ sorcerer'."

Mithin nodded her head thoughtfully again, unable to deny what the Prince had said. "He did present it rather callously, didn't he?"

Elena nodded in agreement but went on to say, "Indeed, but I've heard him say much nastier things about othersand _mean _them. So I think," and here she leaned in close and lowered her voice, as if entrusting Arthur with a secret, "I think he really_ does_ care for you a great deal, Arthur. You may not possess much magic but it's_ clear_ to others that he hangs no shame over your head for it."

"And that he expects no one else to do so," piped in Mithian who had also bent closer to the manservant.

The gossip over with, both women straightened out and made to carry on with their chores, unaware of the miniature bombshell they had dropped on Camelot's least talented servant.

"Oh, and Arthur," Elena called back, waiting for Arthur to break from his thoughts and make eye contact before she snickered and confessed, "the Prince warned us about you but I doubt anyone warned _you_ about _our_ mistress. The Princess Vivian is a _master_ at concocting love potions – even washes her_ hair_ with the stuff."

And with a saucy wink from Elena, and a delighted wave from Mithian, the women turned the corner to leave – all the while still laughing after having delivered Arthur a second perspective-shifting bombshell.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I really had fun with this chapter! It was fun to bring in the ladies and write a bit of besotted!Arthur. And also clueless!Arthur. He's just fun to pick on, okay? Twists in character were that Vivian was genuinely charming (though the love potions up people's attractiveness to her), Elena was of lower rank but had a more powerful (almost bossy) personality, and Mithian was a much lower rank and very prone to wandering off into thought.

The title 'Sugar' came about because of many things: all the women that appeared here (sugar and spice and everything nice), the scent that Vivian's love potion smelt like to Arthur (just like in Harry Potter, Vivian's potions can smell different to each individual person), and the "sweetness" that people find in Merlin's protective nature over Arthur.

I expect the next chapter will be much darker because I realize I haven't posted much of the dark stuff I've got.


	12. Marble

**Author's Note: **Finally a darkish chapter. I'm pretty well pleased with this one overall. Hope you enjoy!

Credit and thanks goes to chibikaty, as always.

I can't remember if this was inspired by any one thing. I think I just wanted a darker scene to write. Though, the way people are always escaping the dungeons in the show may have had something to do with it too.

* * *

**Marble**

It was one of those rare occasions when they had nothing to say to each other.

Almost always, these moments occurred in the dead of night. Prince Merlin would be placed against the wall near the window, his countenance both gloomy and thoughtful, posture guarding him from the interruption of others. Arthur would be somewhere near the bed, pretending to be of service if the prince should decide to retire but in reality acting as a guardian making sure Merlin could have the peace of mind to think and was distracted by nothing else. Just like the stargazing nights Arthur used to spend with his mother, these nights were mellow and undisturbed.

But on this night – colder, heavier, more tightly wound than the rest – Arthur was positioned behind the table rather than beside the bed. He was no sentry tonight. He was a mouse stuck in a corner and all too aware of the cat nearby who hadn't caught sight of him yet. What Arthur didn't know was that this particular cat was more worried about being found out for causing the mess in the other room than he was about mice lurking by the walls. Merlin remained by the window but was too stiff in his spine, too sharp in his shoulders and it was nothing like the heavy slouch he usually preferred.

This was a night of trepidation and terror for the unwritten future. For both cat and mouse.

A distant wolf's howl sang through the night and Arthur had the crazy thought that if he and Merlin were on the moon – fat and full and in clear sights from the prince's window – they couldn't have been more still or more silent. Arthur wasn't even sure he was breathing and he couldn't feel the heartbeat in his chest that should be there.

Merlin was similarly imitating a statue; frozen uncomfortably like marble as he bore his heavy gaze down towards Camelot's lower town. He barely moved but for his eyes. Those royal blue orbs were busy carefully scanning the kingdom below the castle, as though looking for a trace of suspicious activity. Arthur fought his usual nervous fidgets, worried that somehow, this time, his friend was lost somewhere beyond where Arthur could reach him. And call him a coward, but he wasn't willing to face a Merlin who'd look at him with such cold, piercing eyes.

But then Merlin closed his eyes and breathed in deep, and Arthur could blink and breathe for himself again.

"You didn't have to do that," Arthur muttered bravely but cowardly letting the 'thank you' (thankyouthankyou_thankyou_youdontknowwhatthismeanstome) go unsaid.

Merlin didn't open his eyes but his voice was as cold as they had been. "You think I'd stand by and watch my father murder abandoned children?"

Arthur fought his flinch and shrugged helplessly, "Lots of people do."

"Well maybe lots of people need to change," the prince snapped, his words cracking over his manservant like a whip to his back and Arthur stopped being sure he was awake.

The prince, the _crown prince _of _Camelot_, surely couldn't be talking of… treason. Not Merlin. Not _Prince Merlin. _The most powerful warlock within the Five Kingdoms, the one prophesized to be Emrys who would be the bringer of a greater magic than had ever been seen before (_butalsoaheroforthenonmagiciansrememberthestories_). And it certainly _was_ treason to publicly or privately question a king's ruling, never mind one as dangerous and merciless as King Gaius.

Thinking Arthur's silence (_shock_) odd, Merlin turned to study him, less angry about his kingdom's – and his father's – tyranny and more frightened that he had misread his servant's loyalty and confidentiality.

"You think differently?" The prince murmured, scared to know the answer and worried about what it might mean.

Stupidly, Arthur opened his mouth to deny Merlin's suspicion, least wanting his friend to doubt or regret the great amount of trust he had just placed in him. But a part of Arthur held back his words – the frightened part who lived his daily life in all the shadows and corners he could find, trembling like a leaf and looking over his shoulder every other second. Why did Merlin think he sympathized with non-magic folk? What if he agreed with the position and sounded too supportive? Was this a genuine question or was it all a trap to expose Arthur's secret? Frightened-Arthur couldn't tell so he clammed up and choked back his voice entirely, leaving the rest of Arthur feeling both terrified and ashamed.

Merlin glared daggers when Arthur remained silent. "I'd've never thought _you_ would be a _coward_ when it came to standing for what you believe in." He glared some more but it wasn't enough to free Arthur from his fear. His voice spat like venom, stinging the wounds left from the blades, "I thought you were an absolute _fool_ when we first met but I also thought you to be brave. And now, when I've given you my trust freely and completely, you freeze like a cornered hatchling."

Arthur breathed hard for a moment, loosening his neckerchief and trying to calm himself down enough to relax his white-knuckled fists. How could he honestly deny any of what Merlin had just said?

"It's good to finally know exactly what kind of person you are. A worthless Pendragon raised on _mud_ and _dirt_, just like your word. Your _honour_."

Everything that he and Merlin had been building together was crumbling apart in front of his eyes and he was letting it all happen without uttering a sound. Merlin was still glaring blue fire at him, challenging him to fight and trying to push him past his fears.

And this time, it began to work.

"I agree with everything you've said," the servant blurted, quickly before he could think it over or keep it back. His fear loosened ever so slightly, the honesty of his words bringing him a little shine of courage.

Stubborn with his expression, Merlin drove, "_Everything_?"

Arthur nodded, feeling very much like the worthless naked hatchling he had been accused of impersonating. Especially when he knew it was already too late – their relationship had been damaged beyond what a few words could repair. "Absolutely everything," he repeated, trying to amend anyway and rubbing his regret into the gifted neckerchief. "And I'm sorry for failing you."

After a long moment of study, Merlin nodded too, his eyes no less intense but ceasing their attack on Arthur. Instead, they fell to the floor where the prince's shadow lingered in the light of the moon but Arthur's stayed far out of sight.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ah! Well pleased by that last line! It's funny to me how it's the smallest pieces of writing that fill me up with the most pride. They're like precious gems, those one-liners. Anyway, hope Arthur wasn't too much of a wimp here. It's just really hard for him to have to pretend to be something he's really not because he's got to keep a tight watch on how he acts, things he says, who he's seen with, etc. It's more challenging for him in this verse than Merlin had in the show, really. Denying a part of who you are seems doable in comparison to creating a false persona.


End file.
